Twist of Faith
by Thisbe Carstairs OC
Summary: Sequel to Change of Faith: The struggle between good and evil continue as Jocelyn evades the Clave, Valentine struggles with his emotions, Jonathan discovers a terrible truth, Simon sees the inner workings of the Shadowhunters, and Clary is tempted by darkness.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The wait, dear friends, is finally over: the first chapter of book 2 is here! It took a lot of brainstorming, but it's here, as promised and requested! In this continuation of** ** _Change of Faith_** **, we will see our favorite characters face new challenges in family, life, and love! The struggle between good and evil continue as Jocelyn evades the Clave, Valentine gets heat for her past crimes, Jonathan discovers a terrible truth, Simon sees the inner workings of the Shadowhunters, and Clary is tempted by darkness.**

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 **Leave a review of what you'd like to see happen, and maybe your wish will be granted!**

 _I do not own the world of the shadowhunters, nor its characters. I own this storyline and its events._

Chapter One

The room was circular, huge and tiered, decorated in gem-toned velvets and satins trimmed by dark wood and golden tassels. Rows upon rows of deep-seated chairs lined the tiered floors, facing a stage in the center with two chairs behind a podium of dark cherry wood, polished to an almost diamond-like gleam.

Simon, sitting near the middle of the room in an aisle seat, thought the place was somewhere between a stadium and a theater, and couldn't decide which it resembled most. His eyes wandered as the room filled with shadowhunters-until Jonathan Morgenstern sat beside him.

"You okay?" The blonde asked, crossing his legs awkwardly before sighing and letting them sit naturally. "You look stressed."

Simon shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"Me either."

Simon hadn't checked a mirror that morning, so he couldn't be sure, but he felt like the bags under his eyes were deeper than before. For Jonathan, it was definitely true. The circles of sleepless nights stood out starkly against the silver tones of his skin like they were painted there. Still, his hair was styled and his clothes were clean-Simon couldn't say the same, having been wearing the same jeans for the last week. The t-shirt was borrowed from Jace the morning before and was already looking questionable, while his hair hadn't been more than finger-combed since they'd all trained at the Institute two weeks ago.

Before either of them could say anything more, three black-clad figures filed into their row and sat, leaving a single seat between them and Jonathan.

"This should be interesting," Jace smirked stiffly at them, leaning back and slouching in his chair. "We just saw Valentine in the hall having a heart-to-heart with the Inquisitor. Looked like pleasantries were being exchanged in the most delicate fashion."

Jonathan rolled his eyes, as did Isabelle on Jace's other side with Alec, who was distractedly looking around.

"Everyone here is tense," Izzy sighed, touching Jace on the shoulder with one pointed fingernail. "Try not to make a mess we'll have to clean later."

He looked offended. "I would never-"

"Make it harder for our friends than it already is," she finished for him with a sharp look. After a second, she leaned forward and flashed a smile at Jonathan and Simon. "I'm sure it's all going to be fine"

Simon wasn't feeling confident in the girls' words, but he nodded and tried to give her a convinced smile.

Shadowhunters continued to file into the room, taking a few moments to chat with someone before moving on to find seats. It was mostly adults, but there were a few teenagers here and there, much to Simon's surprise. He and his friends had been allowed into this meeting because it was a decisive hearing about a matter they were close to. He couldn't imagine why other teens wer there as well. Maybe it was public? He didn't really know much about that kind of stuff. The world of Shadowhunters was still very new to him.

A woman walked down the center of the room toward the stage and podium, leaving quiet whispers in her wake. She wore flowing grey robes over what looked like a tailored pant-suit. Simon watched as she passed, and caught a glimpse of her face: Inquisitor Herondale. Though she looked stern and sharp, Simon knew she had a kind eye and warm heart. She'd calmed him many times over the past weeks and had spoken with him privately to ease his mind, give him something else to think about since he wasn't allowed to go looking. It was actually hard to believe that many Shadowhunters didn't like her, thought her to be both too strict and too.

Valentine took his seat beside Jonathan only seconds before the Inquisitor began speaking, leaving no room for them to greet the man.

Thank you all for coming," the Inquisitor said in her strong, carrying voice, not seeming to be looking at anyone in particular. "It had been a tense few weeks for all of us, I know, so I thank you for your patience and cooperation. I've just come from the Counsil room where we held a closed hearing regarding the situation at hand, which I'm sure you're all aware of." She paused. "Since the disappearance of Clarissa Morgenstern three weeks ago, we've put all of our resources into finding her. Jocelyn Fairchild has evaded capture since her escape, and is believed to have kidnapped her daughter once again. The last time Jocelyn kidnapped Clarissa, she stole her memories and identity, forcing her into a mundane life. In the early days that they were missing, Jocelyn told her daughter every detail of the illegal and inhumane experiments that she performed on Shadowhunter and mundane children, pre- and post-partum over nearly two decades. Since our people brought the girl back into our ranks, we've learned of these countless atrocities, as our Downworlder allies assisted in regaining Clarissa's memories. As you know, the mundane experimentees have not been approached by us, and will not unless their lives and our existence becomes endangered, as there is no way for us to know how...successful Jocelyn was on her...subjects." She paused again to clear her throat. The room was completely silent. "This hearing is to clarify the information we've been given, and come to a consensus about our next moves, or whether we will be leaving this matter to the Angel."

Immediately, a man rose on the far side of the room from Simon. "The girl and her mother have been completely untraceable since their disappearance three weeks ago. Fairchild managed to escape our hold undetected, and is believed to be using demon magic, correct?"

"You've got it right, Thaddeus Darkmorn."

"So then," he continued after a careful moment. "Would it be correct to say that they are to be considered dangerous and at large?"

Valentine tensed, but before he could protest, a woman jumped to her feet-Simon recognized Terra Chance near the exit. "You don't mean to insinuate that the girl is involved, do you? She's only a child!"

"Wasn't she the one who convinced us to not pursue the woman until more information was known? She could be in league with her!" Another voice piped up.

"Who is to say her memory was ever truly anything but completely in tact? Who better to assist in finding experimental people than, say, a lost child looking for her mother?"

"She's been under our wings for months! The traitor!"

"But she's only a girl! What harm could a girl do? Not even old enough to be in this sort of meeting from the beginning."

"And why would Jocelyn not take both of her children? Obviously the girl was more willing to help with her twisted work."

Jonathan half-shot to his feet, but his father reached out to pull him down. Simon gave them an incredulous look, and saw Valentine give a small shake of his head. It was well known among them that Clary was Jonathan's biggest soft-spot, and the fact that their mother had only taken her was something that killed him from the beginning. Not knowing why she hadn't wanted him was another shot to the heart.

 _This is not going well_ , Simon thought, groaning quietly. It didn't get better until the end when Valentine finally stood and spoke, but by then, Simon was completely tuned out. He sorted his expression into one of stern interest, but he couldn't stop thinking about Clary. He knew she wasn't evil like her mother-no way! But she was out there somewhere, in her mothers clutches, probably in some dark hole somewhere being tortured like last time. They didn't talk about it, of course, but he'd had many a word with Jonathan on the matter. If there was one thing of which he was completely certain, it was that Jocelyn was mercilous, even when it came to her own children. She would stop at nothing for what she wanted, even if it meant torturing her children.

There was little more back and forth before everyone dispersed for a decisive intermission. Simon followed Jonathan out into the hall, aware that the Lightwoods were right behind him, and through a maze until they broke into the cool air of a large courtyard. Although tall trees around the yard blocked the view, Simon was pretty sure the building was built around the place. There was a fountain in the center, circled by benches and large potted roses. Jonathan led them to the benches and they all sat, silently, waiting for someone else to be the first to speak. To Simon's surprise, it was Jace, looking straight at Jonathan.

"You know it doesn't matter what they say, right? We'll find her anyway." He shrugged in that ultra-casual way he had, like he didn't even care that he was literally suggesting they brake the Law. "It just means having less help."

Alec rolled his eyes. "You mean no help. It'll be us and Valentine, against Jocelyn and whatever she has on her side, against the Clave and the Law."

"You make it sounds so hard."

Isabelle smacked his arm, not lightly. "The last time this happened, it took four years, and the Clave didn't think Jocelyn was a threat. If they think both of them are, they'll either let them come to us, or they'll move to attack."

"Wait, what?" Simon blinked hard several times. "Attack? What do you mean?"

"You don't know?" Alec asked, bewildered.

"We didn't really have time to talk about it," Jonathan muttered, looking pained. He sighed before turning toward Simon. "The meeting isn't just to decide whether they'll continue looking for Clary. It's to decide the plan of action for Jocelyn—whether or not we're in danger from her. If they decide that she's evil enough, basically, the search will continue. But it won't be a rescue." He paused. "It'll be a hunt."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 _The Safe House, Florida, USA_

Clary wasn't sure how long she was in darkness for. In the black of the basement, surrounded by wet, she slept at strange times, often unsure if she was awake or asleep. The room looked the same when her eyes were open as when they weren't. She wasn't dreaming or have visions. Her hearing spiked at random intervals, but all she heard was her mother pacing upstairs, the draw of a zipper, the haptic of phone keys. Once, she swore she heard a car pull away, and jumped up, stumbled up the stairs, and pounded against the door until her shoulder was bruised and her fingers bled. There was a tiny strip of light under the door, but all she could see through it was the thick pile of a shag rug that hadn't been there when she'd gotten out, or when she'd lived there with Jared.

The only thing in the room with her was the mattress and a tiny bathroom tucked under the stairs—just a toilet and sink with no light, a toilet paper roll on the tank, the lid of which didn't come off. It didn't have a door, but it wasn't like anyone could see her. Aside from that, it was just the stairs with the door at the top.

She never saw or heard the door open, but sometimes when she woke, there was a bag of food next to her on the damp mattress. It was always the same thing—a zip-lock bagged sandwich, a granola bar, an apple, and a bottle of water. After eating, Clary put the trash back in the bag—not because she was being nice, but because she didn't want the trash on the bed or sticking to her skin. Sleeping on the bed was bad enough.

Unlike last time, she didn't bother trying to count how long she was there. How could she? There was no way to tell the passage of time. The light at the door was always the same when she saw it, not moving with the sun. The temperature of the room never changed. It could have been a few days or a few months. Who knew?

But this time was very different. She knew where she was, that she was a prisoner. She knew that the darkness was a punishment, as well as an attempt to weaken her resolve. She also knew what her mother wanted—which was for Clary to join her. Jocelyn wanted, more than anything, was for her perfect result to join her side and help her win. Though the woman would probably never have admitted it, she knew her daughter's loyalty would also gain her the trust of Jonathan.

Clary knew that her mother wanted to 'fix' her brother, make him perfect like she though Clary was. Since it had been so long since having Jonathan with them was possible, Jocelyn had never discussed him with Clary, so she didn't know what she had planned for him, let alone if it was possible to make him different. Maybe Jocelyn planned to kill him, keep her failed attempts from getting away and causing trouble, like an animal loose at the zoo.

The Clave wouldn't let that happen though. Jonathan was one of the best young Shadowhunters, right in their line of sight alone with people like Jace Lightwood and, of course, Clary herself.

That was different too. Unlike the last time she'd been trapped in this place, Clary had someone looking for her—not just anyone, but the whole Clave. Before, it had just been her father and brother. Now, every Shadowhunter in the world had their eyes peeled. How could they not? Jocelyn was a danger to everyone and everything, and they knew that. They'd had her right under their noses and she'd managed to get away. She'd stayed hidden from them for years and they'd known nothing of where they were—they'd been moving around too, which had made things hard. But they'd been in the same place for a while now. Clary had told the Counsil and her father about the safe house and where it was, so really it was only a matter of time before they came to her rescue. The only reason she could think of as to why they hadn't come yet was because they were preparing something awesome to make sure Jocelyn couldn't get away this time.

The runes on her skin didn't matter if they knew where to look.

As time passed, Clary's faith wavered. She was alone, wet, cold, and blind. Reminding herself that the Clave would come at any moment made her feel less and less better. Even thinking that this was Jocelyn's plan didn't stop the cold hopelessness from touching her. Of course, she still had no desire to stand by her mothers' side, but that resolve didn't change anything.

What if they Clave didn't think she was worth saving? Or worse—what if they still didn't really believe what her mother _was_? Convincing them had been nearly impossible, even with people like Tessa coming forward with their own stories. Clary had been able to give the Clave a list of people she'd seen over the years, the ones who'd acted like her mother had been dead or something, and even when they'd told their ends, the Clave had been less than inclined to believe it. It was incredibly likely that they still didn't, and had called off the search for her.

Clary jumped to her feet as another thought occurred to her: what if they thought she was in league with Jocelyn? That she part of it? In on the evil?

She shook her self and fell to her knees trying to get the thought out of her head.

 _There's no way_ , she told herself, mouthing the words silently. _Not after everything they've heard. They knew I'm not with her. I was kidnapped. They know that._

No longer caring about how wet everything was, she fell sideways on the hard ground and lay still for a long time. A puddle circled her arm, but she didn't care.

Closing her eyes against the identical darkness, Clary placed a picture against her lids. Jonathan smiling as he and Simon trained together in the back yard, her dad sitting on the patio with a stack of texts he was translating for the Institute. It had been summer then, and the sun had been shining brightly, warming everything and creating halos around the people she loved. It made her brothers hair look almost golden, brought red in her boyfriends hair, tanned their skin. Clary had been sitting under the tree in the yard, sketching her dad across the yard and drinking her favorite watermelon tea. It had been a perfect day. Though she hadn't had her memories yet and weird things were happening her in mind, she'd been able to let that all fall away for a while. That afternoon, she and Simon had gone to a movie after dinner and had lay awake in his bed until they were in danger of seeing the sunrise.

Suddenly, light flooded her eyes, so bright she had to raise her arm to cover her face. The door at the stop of the stairs opened, and steps began descending. Clary scrambled to her feet, stumbling over the bed, falling to a heap in the corner. Her eyes burned. Tears stung her cheeks.

Footsteps paused in front of her, and the mattress dipped slightly. She felt the sting of a rune on her arm.

She opened her eyes.

Jocelyn knelt on the edge of the bed, looking nothing like Clary had ever seen her. Her hair was straightened and hanging loose over her shoulders, skin for once completely clear of paint, dressed in what looked like slacks and a blouse. She'd never seen her mother out of jeans—save for when she'd favored gear _before_.

"It's just an iratze," the woman whispered, leaning back on her heels. The mattress left oblong imprints of moisture on her pants. "But I'm not afraid to bind you if you disobey me. Do you understand?"

Clary clenched her jaw, not looking her in the eye. But she nodded.

"Good. We need to leave this place. It's too dangerous for us now. You will come upstairs and clean yourself. If you run, things will only be worse for you."

"Just leave me," she growled. "Let me die here."

Jocelyn laughed. "Oh, Clary, why would I do that?"

"Why wouldn't you? You left me down here in the dark. It wouldn't take long once you're gone."

She sighed. "So dramatic. You know why you're here, Clary. Now, your punishment is done, and it's time to leave. You can either do this the easy way or the hard way."

After a few moments of silence, Jocelyn stood and turned around, heading for the stairs. "You won't be able to leave, but if you decide to be a good girl, you may come upstairs and clean yourself up. If not, I'll be back in an hour, and you won't like it when that happens." Within seconds, she was up the stairs and out of sight, leaving the door open and light on behind her.

Immediately, Clary began counting the seconds.

 _She thinks I'm weak_ , she mentally scoffed. _That time in the dark has made me weak enough to do what she wants._

One minute.

 _She's wrong. I'm still strong. I'm strong enough to say no, to think for myself. Maybe she knows that and she's just trying to tempt me. Tempt me and make me want what she wants. A hot shower does sound nice—but not nice enough to break me._

Five minutes.

 _If we leave the safe house, the Clave won't know where to look for me. But if we stay, I'll be in a dark basement for who knows how long. If I don't go with her willingly though…_

Ten minutes.

 _The Clave doesn't even believe that she's evil though! They've made it very clear that they've never believed me. The only reason they gave me the time of day is because they know my father. The Morgensterns have always been a powerful Shadowhunter family. That's the only reason they ever heard me. It wouldn't make a difference to them if it were someone else. Jocelyn could blow up the Accords Hall or something, like Cersei in Game of Thrones, and they still wouldn't think she was evil!_

Fifteen minutes.

 _But what if I could stop her on my own? I know how she thinks. I know what she wants. I know what she expects. I can play her like she played me, get information and details from her, play my part as the hesitant but devoted daughter…It's all she's ever wanted from me, and I could make her believe it. I could make her believe that the punishment of the basement and the darkness and isolation really did a number on me. Faked Stockholm Syndrome! And by her side, I could do damage control! I could keep her from actually hurting people. I could leave a trail for Dad and Jonathan and Simon to follow. Gain her trust, and then destroy her—like in Game of Thrones!_

Twenty minutes.

Clary stood up slowly and stepped off the mattress, pausing a moment to steady herself. She couldn't believe how stupid and yet amazing her plan was. Tricking her mother into believing she'd won… It wouldn't be easy, but she didn't care. It was her way out. All she had to do was get her mother to trust her.

She made her way up the stairs and into the hallway, looking around cautiously before making her way across the house. On the way to the one bathroom, she passed through the living room where Jocelyn was carefully placing things into a suitcase. Apparently, she hadn't bothered with a bedroom and had made herself comfortable on the couch. There was even the potted Aloe Vera on the windowsill that they'd always carried with them.

"Your things are in the bathroom," she said casually. "Just pack them up when your done."

"Where are we going?"

Jocelyn looked up at her for a moment before straightening. "We'll be moving around."

She didn't say anything in response, just nodded and turned to head for the bathroom. Too many questions, seeming too eager…it would be suspicious. She'd done well though, she knew. She'd seen Jocelyn's small smile as she turned away.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"You've done well," Jocelyn said softly. Her arms were crossed loosely over her chest, trapping a few strands of unbound red hair against her light grey t-shirt. She was sitting cross-legged on a dining room chair in the kitchen of what she called 'the safehouse.'

The air in the house was damp and stale, stagnant despite the drafts. A thick layer of moist dust covered every available surface, save for the smudge on the table where Jocelyn had accidently placed her hand before gently swiping the spot with the inside of her t-shirt—though her DNA was surely all over the house, she still felt the need to wipe excess prints from the surfaces of everything she touched. She hadn't wiped the dust from her hands though, so it was still visible on her fingers and palm, dark grey and ugly.

Across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed tightly over his white shirt, was a young man. His hair, dark and curling, was longer than he usually liked it, and messier, unkempt. There was blood on the shirt, at the bottom hem, and he wasn't sure where it had come from. Not that he really cared. There was only one thing he cared about.

"Well?" He asked. His voice was low and almost dangerous sounding, though his tone held no inflection of any kind. "Where is he?"

"He'll be here," Jocelyn insisted. It wasn't the first time he'd asked, and she was beginning to get annoyed with him. "Just be patient."

"My patience wore thin when he wasn't early. It's been gone since he was not on time."

"It's only been a few minutes."

"And with each moment I become less forgiving."

She rolled her eyes at him, but he could see the unease in her eyes. "He'll be here."

"Not for long if he keeps me waiting." He tightened his arms and sighed. His skin was cold and itchy from the wet air, which didn't ease his frustration at having to wait.

Luke wasn't an essential piece of the puzzle Jocelyn was working on, so waiting for him was even worse than for anyone else. As far as he was concerned, Luke was only around because Jocelyn had had a thing with him once. Had they been in love? He neither knew nor cared. Luke was around because Jocelyn had been close with him. That was it. If she tried to say he was around because he knew things, the choice would be easy. Well, no. It was easy now. It was only made easier by the fact that he wasn't going to tell Jocelyn unless he did it. His mind was already made up on the matter.

He was going to kill Luke.

He only vaguely remembered learning about what Luke had done. The whole scene had been bright, though his vision was red. Everything had been red, slashed with visions of all the things he'd feared for years. At the center of everything was Clary, rimmed in gold and silver, a mess of red hair. She was everything, and she was crying. She was hurt and afraid. She was terrified. Luke had tortured her for weeks before Jocelyn had taken her away.

And he had the nerve to come crawling back.

Jocelyn wasn't stupid. She wasn't giving him everything he wanted, and she wouldn't. Despite everything she'd done, she truly believed that she loved Clary in her own way. She wouldn't keep Luke around much longer anyway. He knew that much for certain, and she wasn't going to forgive him. Far from it.

It made him want to smile, thinking of everything he was going to do to the man.

Everything he thought the man had done to Clary, he would inflict on Luke. He didn't imagine he'd inflict any more or less, but it would probably feel that way, being as he wouldn't draw it out for weeks on end. Realistically, he would only take a day. Maybe two if he had it.

"Don't be so dramatic," Jocelyn said, pulling him back from his thought of revenge. "If he keeps us waiting beyond mid-day, he's out."

"Out?" He asked.

"Out," she nodded. "Out of the plan and out of my life. After all he's done, I shouldn't have let him back in."

"Why did you?"

"Honestly?" She sighed. "Because I was alone. Clary had left and found you all—it's not like she remembered it anyway. Everyone helping me now knew I was lying to them. I was once again on the run with nobody to confide in. Luke contacted me and begged me to forgive him. I didn't, of course, but I agreed to let him help me."

"With what?"

"I couldn't check on the children, not in my position. I sent Luke to report their advancements to me. He checked on all of them since Clary couldn't."

"Why did you take her memory?" He asked, his tone interested. His arms loosened, creating a purposefully casual look about him. "

"Because I had no choice." Her voice hardened and she crossed her arms and legs tighter. "After what Luke did to her, I couldn't let her keep her memories. She was already tortured by the angels and visions. I couldn't let his actions haunt her as well. She never would have followed me—the only reason I got her as far as I did was because she was a child. Part of her believed me—or wanted to, at least. But she wouldn't have trusted me. She wouldn't have followed me. She wouldn't have joined my cause." She shrugged. "Removing her memory was the only way."

"So you think she will follow you now?"

"In time? I know she will."

"She holds you to all her trials," He said, not looking at her. "You're the reason all of the pain has occurred in her life. Without you, she would have been perfectly normal and happy with a loving family and a wonderful life. Because of you, she may never have that. How do you purpose to sway her for even a moment?"

"Oh, I won't," she said gently. "You will."

He turned to her so fast it was a wonder his neck didn't snap. "What?"

She smiled. "It's like you said. There is nothing that I can do to make her trust me." She stood up slowly. "But _you_ matter to her. She would follow you to the ends of the Earth—hell, she'd cross realms for you if she needed to—if you _asked_ her to. Why not this?"

For a moment, all he could do was stare at her. Was she insane? Did she actually believe that he could convince Clary to, for lack of better word, come to the dark side? Even the new and darker parts of his mind knew that that was near impossible. "Surely you aren't serious."

"I am."

He crossed his arms and looked up at the ceiling. "Alright. Let's pretend for a moment that you're right, and that Clary would do anything for me, and that I could actually sway her to her mothers whims and wills." He looked at her. "After what you did to me? She won't listen. I have the face and the voice, but we all know I'm not the same person. I'm different."

"You're stronger," she agreed. "And smarter."

"And darker and angrier. I'm no longer the person she thought I was. She'll know that the second she lays eyes on me. She'll know exactly what you've done. Then, not only will she seek a way to reverse it, but she'll be even less likely to join you."

"Well then, I guess you'll have to find a way." She shrugged and turned around, heading back to the kitchen chair. This time, she didn't pull her legs up. She leaned forward instead, resting her elbows on her knees, and chin on her hands.

"Me?"

"Yes. You. Above all else, your task is to convince Clary to join us. It's the only way we can all be together, and you are the only one who can do it."

Before he could speak, the front door squeaked open and Luke sauntered in. More than three hours late, he swaggered. The young man saw red around him, and it took everything he had not to kill him right then and there.

Luke closed the door and walked into the kitchen, grinning, and placed a hand on Jocelyn's shoulder. "Sorry, I'm let. The winds weren't in my favor today."

She smiled like she wasn't bothered. "It's alright. You're here now. That's the important thing."

 _The winds_ , he seethed. As though the winds could turn twenty minutes into three hours. As if Luke had gone from island to island on a sailboat instead of a motor boat. Perhaps he'd been caught. Three hours with the right technique was enough to turn any ordinary scum into a spy—and the shadowhunters weren't beyond such tactics when it came to finding their Most Wanted. If he'd been caught sooner and had been late getting out, they could have done almost anything to him. Really, after the torture he'd inflicted, Luke deserved the worst of their ways. Unfortunately, the young man noted, he hadn't endured too much. He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, and his arms were free of marks. His eyes were bright and his hair was clean. Either the shadowhunters had been kind, or he'd simply arrived three hours later because he was a damned fool who didn't know what was coming to him.

The young man liked to think it was the latter. He didn't want the scum to see him coming.

Sure enough, Luke grinned at him like they were old friends. "Did you guys have any trouble getting in?"

"Not at all," he said, pointedly not grinning. "Everything was right on schedule."

"The runes?" Luke asked.

He pulled down the neck of his t-shirt to show the dark wine colored runes on his collar, angry looking and sinister. He'd known what they did even before he let Jocelyn apply them to his skin. They were the runes she'd been using for seven years to keep the Clave and warlocks from finding her. Clary had had them as well, but they'd faded. For runes as powerful as these, they were incredibly easy to break. They'd broken on her the night her brother had found her.

"And Clarissa?"

The young man's blood boiled, and Jocelyn nodded. "Placed immediately. She's sleeping now."

"Perhaps someone should check on her. Wouldn't want her come to without someone knowing."

The young man stepped forward and nodded to Jocelyn. She nodded back, and continued talking with Luke.

Since they'd arrived, the young man had been the only one to check on the girl. He was faster than Jocelyn, more attuned to his surroundings, so he didn't need the light. Plus, he was more likely to be able to tell if something was wrong.

And, of course, he simply didn't want anyone else around her.

The basement was pitch black when he closed the door behind him and walked down the stairs. With his heightened vision, he could see the steps and the hand rail well enough the he could have taken them two at a time if he'd wanted to. It was like a grey-toned light to him. He could see everything clearly. The basement was empty aside from the single mattress on the floor and the small step-stool beside it. There was a thin blanket folded on the stool as a cushion. Clary was on the mattress.

He removed the blanket and sat on the hard wooden stool, holding the blanket on his lap. It was cold, but seemed dry.

He sat there for a long time, listening to the girl breathing softly in her sleep. It wasn't for several minutes until he realized that she was sleeping peacefully. Not simply in that she wouldn't wake up anytime soon, but that she wasn't dreaming. There were no nightmares in her head, no visions, no angels. He realized, sitting there in the dark, that this was the first time since leaving her mother that Clary was truly sleeping peacefully.

The dark pressure in his heart thickened, and he felt nothing. No, not nothing. Emptiness. He felt the void where he should have felt relieved. She wasn't having the nightmares, and that was something he should have felt happy about—even with the circumstances.

He felt empty.

He felt angry.

He wanted to feel happiness for her. He wanted to…

Well, he wanted to be angry for her. He wanted to get her out of this place. He wanted to see her sleeping on a soft bed with blankets and pillows, with the light coming in from a window, making her hair look more brown than red.

But he didn't. He just felt the loss of it.

With every breath Clary took, he could hear the old papers under her crunching and shifting, somehow sounding dry when they were surely just as damp as everything else. He picked one up and immediately recognized Clary's old handwriting.

It was her notes, he realized. She'd told him about it. Luke would force her to train until she was close to passing out, beating her all the while, and then teach her a lesson. He would lock in down her to write out everything he'd tought, and wouldn't heal her wounds until she'd gotten it right. If she missed something or got it wrong, he would beat her, and leave until the sheet was correct. Then, and only then, he would give her healing runes and food before turning off the light and letting her sleep. Only to do it all again in the morning.

He threw the paper back on the bed like it had burned him.

Luke would pay for what he'd done to her.

He would make sure of that, if nothing else. He couldn't surely make her believe in her mother, and he couldn't surely get her away. But he could make sure that Luke paid.

Satisfied that Clary wouldn't wake, he stood up and placed the blanket back on the stool, and left the basement.

Jocelyn was walking down the hall toward the basement door when he stepped through, and she jumped back, startled. "I was just coming to look for you," she said, faking a smile. "I'm running to town for a few things. Do you want to come with me?"

"I'm staying with Clary," he said.

She nodded. "Alright. Luke is staying behind too—traveling is tired work. The closest town is a little too close, so I'm going to the next one. I'll be back in a few hours, okay?"

"Whatever you say."

She nodded again, this time hesitantly. She opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it and simply closed her mouth, nodding a third time. "I'll be back."

Then she turned around, grabbed the bag she'd placed on the floor, and left. After a few second, he heard the small car turn on in the driveway, and gravel crunch as she drove away.

A few hours? She was doing more than errands, of that he was sure. If she was going to the next town, it was the city. But it would never take hours just to pick a few things up—and in a 'city' that size? It would probably only take an hour to get something from every business. They'd driven through it on their way to the 'safe house,' and it had been _underwhelming_ to say the least. It's only real redeeming quality was the Burger King—though, in his mind, at least, even the perfect Whopper couldn't redeem a whole town—even if it was a city. And the burger had been pretty good.

He decided that being suspicious of Jocelyn shouldn't have been anywhere near the top of his list of important things. He was, after all, suddenly alone in a house with Luke.

Miles from any other person.

How safe could a 'safe house' really be if you were alone with something that wanted to kill you?

The man was sitting in the kitchen on the chair Jocelyn had vacated. He was balancing a skinny iPad on his leg and making short strokes across it with a stylus. He couldn't see what he was doing exactly, but he didn't really care. He stood in the doorway watching the man on his toy.

Luke looked up suddenly, his eyes catching him in a breath. "Oh. It's just you."

 _Just me. Right_.

"Why are you just standing there? Come in, sit down. Make yourself at home. Did Jocelyn catch you on her way out?"

He nodded. "Yes. She said she'd be gone a few hours."

"Yup. I figured I'd pull out the old tablet and get some work done. We've been in hiding for a while, you know, and I've been getting a couple jobs for illustrating. It's just kids books and the occasional commission, but it gets me by. Do you have anything to do while you wait?"

"I have a few things in mind," he said, shrugging like he'd brought a book or something.

"Good. I know Jocelyn is efficient in what she does, but this is a pretty small place, and they can be suspicious of outsiders. She'll be even more careful than usual."

"It must be strange for you to not be going with her."

"Nah. We rarely do things together in public. We keep a pretty low-profile. No one's even seen me in months."

 _So no one else will notice you gone? Wonderful_.

"Are you going to sit?" He kicked out the next chair, which almost tipped over.

 _Clumsy._

"I'm fine standing." All he could think about was his revenge. If he was going to do it, he needed to do it now—there was no way to know when Jocelyn would be back, or if she would leave again while he was still around. He had made his anger clear enough that the woman should have known better than to leave them alone for any length of time. If he killed Luke right now, it was on her. She shouldn't have made it so easy for him.

Changing him the way she had, and leaving him alone with the object of his anger…

Clearly, this was what Jocelyn wanted. She wanted Luke gone, but was unable to do it herself. She couldn't just let his wander free, knowing all that he knew. And with their past, she couldn't bring herself to kill him. So she'd left him for the young man to take care of.

"I was going to check the perimeter," he said carefully. "This place has been empty for some time. We should make sure it's still secure."

"Want me to come with? I know this place like the back of my hand."

"If you'd like." He shrugged like he didn't care, and walked across the kitchen. He'd put his jacket on the back of a chair, and was suddenly almost glad he had. With his back to Luke, the man couldn't see him pull one of the knives from the block on the counter. There were several missing, so it wasn't conspicuous. Luke was busy with his own coat, and didn't see him slip the blade up his left sleeve. It wasn't as sharp as he thought it would be, so it wouldn't cut him by accident, at least not easily, but he liked it that way.

It would hurt more when he stabbed Luke with it. The wounds might be a bit ragged, but he didn't care how pretty a dead man looked. Just that he was dead.

With a fake, carefree-looking grin over his shoulder, he led Luke outside, and they made their way around the back of the house.

He didn't mind the blood on his hands. He didn't mind that his clothes were wet from the rain, or that his hair was sticking to his face and neck. He was pretty sure there was blood in his hair as well, but he didn't mind it.

He didn't mind much of anything at all.

The darkness wrapped around him, almost warmly, and it was like everything else disappeared. The rain, the blood, the mud, Jocelyn… It felt good to know there was one less evil in the world.

It had grown late, and Jocelyn still wasn't back yet. There wasn't much of a body left to hide, and he probably wouldn't have even if there was, so he went back inside. Though the blood and muck didn't bother him, he didn't particularly want _his_ blood on his skin, so he headed for the shower. The hot water cleared his mind and cleansed his body, and he let the memory fill his mind.

It had felt good. It was almost meditative. Luke had cried, begged forgiveness, and flinched when he'd seen the way the young man looked at him. He begged him to stop, tears falling from his eyes like a waterfall, blood streaming from all the gashes. It was all like music to his ears, hearing the man's cries of pain and helplessness. From start until just before the end, he had wanted to keep the song of it going, to never let it end. _This revenge…_ but then it had changed very suddenly. Luke was in tatters, still weeping, still begging. His clothes were barely rags hanging from him, wet with rain and blood. Whenever the man tried to stand or get away, he would slip in the puddle of mud and blood beneath his feet. When he moved, his broken bones screamed, and the young man could hear the ragged ends grounding together—it was _incredible_ how satisfying it all was. He never wanted it to end. But then it changed. _He_ changed.

One second he was talking nice and low, explaining why he was doing this, and skinning off a strip of Luke's arm, the blood oozing and spurting down the handle of the kitchen knife. The next, his brow furrowed, and he stopped—just long enough for Luke to scoot back a few inches and plead. Then, without a second, thought, he jumped forward and crouched, sliding the knife in between Luke's ribs.

 _Why did I stop_? He asked himself.

He stayed there for a long moment, trying to figure out why. Then it hit him.

He was tired of Luke making sounds. It was as simple as that.

What a weak man he'd been. Maybe the young man should have added a lesson and made him repeat back every bit of information while he skinned him alive. He could have done it. Even without the extras and recent changes, he was stronger than Luke. He'd worked at it his entire life to be the strongest.

Well. At least he knew it had paid off.

Jocelyn was still gone when he left the bathroom, dressed in fresh jeans and a black shirt. Toweling his wet hair, he perused the house, idling to look out the windows as he passed them. There was a thick layer of dust over everything, but, in his mind, it wasn't as thick as it should have been. He paused beside the fireplace in the living room and examined the layer of grime on the mantle. Like the rest of the house, it was a mixture of dust and moisture, but with a smidge of soot from old fires. Carefully, he ran a finger across the back of the mantle, and examined the line he'd made.

There was no way this place had stood vacant for six years.

Yet there were no signs that anyone else had lived here. No personal items, no trash, no mud tracks, not even the smallest trace of an old perfume.

"Curious," he muttered, wondering why it even mattered.

He shrugged. Clearly, it didn't.

Maybe he'd killed Luke too fast. Now he was bored.

It was interesting, he thought. _Before_ , he'd rarely been bored. He'd always had things to do, things he'd wanted to do. There was always things to learn—languages, history, music, fighting styles. If he didn't want to learn something, or didn't want to be alone or inside, he could go outside and train. Though he didn't really mind it, he didn't want to train in the rain—the water in his eyes was too annoying—and there wasn't enough space to train in the living room without busting a window.

Not that he cared if he broke one. Jocelyn wouldn't either.

 _Before_ , if he hadn't had the motivation to entertain himself—for lack of better word. Check social media pages, go to the Sanctuary and help out with things….

Oh, that was too far back.

Before _this_ , before _here_ , before _Jocelyn_ …

He'd spent most of his time with Clary.

Clary was downstairs.

Sure, she was sleeping, but she was still there. There was still a possibility of her waking up. Guard-duty didn't sound any more appealing than training in the cold and rain, but…but…it was Clary.

Besides, he could tell her what he did.

Decided, he slipped his jacket on, and headed down into the dark basement, which was equally damp as the rest of the house.

Like last time, he removed the blanket from the stool and set it on his lap when he sat. Clary was still just as asleep as she had been. Her eyes flickered slightly every few moments. Her breath was steady. Her body was still, save for the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

No nightmares. No dreams. No drawings or outbursts or visions or angelic visits. Just sleep.

He liked seeing her this way.

He cocked his head slightly, looking at the girl on the mattress. It was like looking at a familiar stranger, like running into someone on the street that you hadn't seen in years. He knew her, _knew_ her, but she was a stranger suddenly—no, exactly that. As he looked at her, she became a stranger. A part of him that soared from the sight of her fell to the ground and couldn't imagine why it had been so high just a moment ago.

Why is this human important?

He shook his head slightly. She didn't look important. She was young, a child, red haired and innocent looking with runes that his kind had feared for years. If she was important at all, to anyone, in any way, it was because she killed his kind.

She killed demons. That's what the runes meant. She was one of _them_. Even the prettiest girl could be a killer. And this girl most certainly was. She would kill him if she had the chance—he'd seen her do it before. She'd shown no mercy then, to those demons.

Reaching for the thin blade holstered at the back of his shoulder, he wondered why he didn't just kill her now. Why shouldn't he? Kill her before she woke up and could kill him. Just like he'd killed that man.

He jumped up from the chair and nearly fell, desperate to put distance between him and the sleeping girl.

"Clary," he growled. "Her name is Clary and I will not harm her."

 _But once she see's what has been done…_

"I will not hurt Clary. _Ever_." His breath was harsh and he was braced against a support pillar in the middle of the basement. He looked down slightly and saw that his hands were clutching the blanket so hard that the small fibers were ripping. He could hear it. _Ri-ri-ri-ri-p-p-p_. Slowly but surely, the blanket would come apart in his fingers if he didn't ease up. But what if he let go? What if his hands became free and he used them on her? If he could destroy a wool blanket in seconds without hardly realizing it, what would he do to a mere human girl who couldn't fight back?

 _Her name is Clary. I will not harm her._

Slowly, carefully, and with jarred movements, he slowly stepped closer to the mattress and, after a moment of hesitation, flipped the blanket in his hands. He pulled the edges and draped the wool gently over Clary's sleeping form. If she noticed the weight of it or that it caused warmth, her body gave no signal. She continued to sleep as though nothing had happened.

He didn't even look at the stool. He knelt beside the mattress, keeping his eyes on Clary's face.

"I did it for you," he said. "So he couldn't hurt you again."

Then he stood up, turned around, and went back up stairs. Outside, a car pulled up.

Jocelyn was back.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

When Clary woke, she blinked back immediately against the bright light streaming in through a window. She must have made a sounds, because someone asked, "You okay?" In a light, laughing tone.

Clary sat up straight and whipped her head around.

Jocelyn stood behind her, pulling a cardigan over a blouse and slacks, smirking down at her. "Good morning, sleepy head."

For a second, her whole body tensed, taking stock of where, who, and what—she was sore and stiff, and she had no weapons. No phone.

Then she remembered.

Jocelyn. The car. They'd taken a plan to Ohio from Miami, then Clary had used a rune to open a portal to London. A taxi. Then they'd gotten a hotel. They'd stayed awake for a long time, Clary faking loving her mother, faking interest, faking caring. She'd asked about Simon, and the woman had said they couldn't bring him in yet.

"You slept forever," she continued now. "Sixteen hours." She leaned over the bed and pressed a kiss to her daughters forehead, pausing to stroke her cheek lightly before standing again. "Travel has always exhausted you."

And it wasn't about to get any better. According to their late night conversation, travel was all they would be doing for a while. Show their faces around the world, make them untraceable, portray a touch of Clary's power to portal, make the Clave chase if they were looking, throw them off a possible trail.

The problem, of course, was that there wasn't a trail. Clary had told the Clave about the safehouse in Florida. There was no other safe house. There was no travel plan—they didn't need one when Clary could just create a portal at will. They had runes to keep the tracking spells from working.

Not to mention the fact that by being seeing with her mother, Clary was effectively telling the Clave to either kill her or ignore her existence.

"You'd think I'd be used to it by now," Clary laughed, hoping she didn't look like she wanted to cry.

Jocelyn laughed too. "You'd think, but it makes you more unique. Now, first things first, you probably want a shower and breakfast. So," she looked around and grabbed her coat off the back of an armchair. "I'm going out to get you some new clothes—"

"Can't I just portal back and get some?"

"And if they were in there? They're probably tracking everything you own, Clary. No, it's too risky for any of them to see us yet. "So I'll get some clothes and food, and I'll be back in a little while."

Before Jocelyn could ask, Clary pulled the stele from the pocket of her slept in clothes and handed it over. "You probably don't trust me alone with this yet."

After a moment of hesitation, she took it, then placed a seraph blade in Clary's hand. "We both need to trust each other."

"I trust you," she said, eyes widening. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't. I...I missed you. I kept hoping you would come back for me." She looked away. "I was little, Mother. A child. I was scared. Now...now I'm just scared something will happen to you..." She felt arms around her, and smiled into her mother's shoulder.

"Nothing is going to happen, Clary, I promise. And I won't let anyone hurt you again, okay? Not ever." She held on for a few minutes, stroking her tangled red hair.

And then she was gone, leaving Clary alone in the posh hotel room with no personal belongings, no stele, and a single seraph blade.

"But she believes me," she whispered to herself, smiling. "And soon...soon she'll trust me."

And then I'm out of here.

Jonathan and Simon both woke with a start to the sound of the front door closing, though it had been a nearly inaudible click through the closed bedroom door. Still, they both bolted into sitting positions on the floor, arms reaching back, hands closed over the hilts of seraph blades-not, of course, that the blades would have been the greatest weapons to use in this case, being as Alicante was a demon-free zone.

They sat completely still for a long moment, then together sighed and slouched back down, leaning against the wall. They were on the floor of Clary's bedroom in the apartment in Alicante, and hadn't even realized they'd fallen asleep until they'd been woken up. Simon rubbed at his face tiredly, and yawned.

"What time do you think it is?" He asked around the yawn and stretch.

Jonathan shook his head, pulling out his cellphone. After a second of looking at it, he put it back in his pocket and looked at the watch on the wrist of his other hand. He looked at the window. "About noon."

"Was it even dark when we fell asleep?"

"I don't even remember falling asleep," the older boy chuckled, pushing his fingers through his hair, feeling it was a complete mess.

After the completely not productive Clave meeting the day before, during which the next moves were meant to be decided, and during which nothing was decided at all, not even narrowed down a little bit, the boys and Valentine had returned to the apartment they'd been in for the last week. The man had changed clothes and immediately left to see Maryse. Jonathan and Simon had sat in the living room for a long time, talking occasionally but mostly silent and thinking, trying both not to worry about the Clave's decisions-or lack thereof. Then, Jace and the others had stopped by for a bit. Once they'd left, Jonathan had excused himself. After nearly twenty minutes, Simon had gotten up to look for him. The other boy had been in the small bedroom with the pink and green bedspread, hand-drawn pictures on the walls, a pile of clothes in the corner, a picture of the small family on the nightstand. He'd been sitting on the floor by the bed, staring across the room at a wall of Clary's drawings. They were done in what Simon realized after a moment was very old, from years before he'd met her. She'd improved a lot. He'd have to tell her he was proud of her progress as an artist.

Simon had stood in the doorway for a long moment, Jonathan not saying anything or moving. Then he'd sighed and sat beside the other boy.

"We used to spend a couple days a week here," Jonathan said suddenly, after several moments of silence. "When Father and Jocelyn would come to speak with the Clave or get some official work done-they didn't like doing it at the house because they said it made it hard to separate work from home." He paused. "Clary and I used to play in the living room while they were gone. When they were home, especially if they were working or had other shadowhunters over, we would go outside and run through the streets. We used to sit on the hill behind the Accords Hall and watch the sunset."

"I bet it looks amazing," Simon said quietly. His eyes flickered to the window.

"It does. When the sun hits the towers just right...it lights up the whole city. It's the most amazing and beautiful thing you could ever imagine. And we had the best seats in the house on that hill. And after playing and running around all day, we'd come back and sit here in her room and talk about how we were going to be amazing shadowhunters some day-be Parabatai, share the Morganstern manor, and move out into the world, live in a city, and hunt demons all the time. We used to be so excited for the action. We thought we were invincible. Nothing could touch us."

"You were children," Simon whispered. "It's okay for children to have those kinds of dreams. That's what being a kid is-even kids who are born in the never-ending War on Demons."

"We were fools to think that nothing would ever go wrong. It all went to Hell before we were even born."

Simon didn't say anything for a long time. He watched at the sun fell fully and the window became dark. Soft amber lights were on throughout the city, and he admired the lacy shapes the cast across the room as they hit the curtains.

"You were no more foolish that every other shadowhunter in the world, Jonathan."

"Yeah, except that the rest of the shadowhunter children don't have an insanely evil mother who did unspeakable experiments on them, stole a Mortal Instrument, abducted her own daughter, let her be tortured by her boyfriend, erased her memories and forced her to forget who she was and her Angel given purpose in life, told her her father and brother were dead, set her up to meet a guy who had been genetically altered to be with her, stalked her for weeks, then abducted her again, and disappeared without a trace." Jonathan shook his head, laughing with mock humor. "And we always just thought our mother was a little weird."

"To be fair...she is super weird."

Jonathan laughed.

Now, they rubbed their eyes and stretched, pulling to pop their joints, stiff from sleeping on the hard wood floor. Simon stood first, leaving the room and heading for the kitchen. On the counter was a handwritten note.

'S+J- with Maryse. Home tonight with food. Council tomorrow. Try to chill out today. -Dad'

Simon made coffee and unpacked pop tarts, and was just sitting down when Jonathan came out, hair wet from a shower, dressed in clean clothes, his feet bare. He got a cup of coffee, and sat across from Simon, helping himself to one of the pop tarts.

"Have you notice," Simon said casually, after Jonathan had read the note. "That your dad has been spending a lot of time with Maryse Lightwood?"

He blinked. "No? Why? They've known each other for a long time. Clary and I grew up playing with Alec and Isabelle—And Jace too. The Morgansterns and Lightwoods have always been close. The Blackthorns too. And the Penhallows before they moved to run the Paris Institute. We all used to have play dates."

"Play dates? What do shadowhunter kids play? Hide and Seek the Nest of Vampires?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "No, that's ridiculous. We played Demon Hunters."

"Is that where you pretend to be adults and kill demons?"

"Clary used to paint runes on us cuz she was the only one who could make them look right without a stele."

"Wow. What did you use as demons?"

"Usually the little Blackthorn kids and the Carstairs girl."

"Anyway..." Simon laughed. "Anyway, as I was saying...?"

"Father has always been close with the Lightwood parents. They were close friends."

"He doesn't hang out with Robert, like, ever."

"He's always in Idris."

"We're in Idris right now."

Jonathan blinked once. Twice. Again. "Maryse is in New York more. She's more familiar with everything going on."

"Even before Clary went missing."

He gave him a look. "Are you implying something?"

"Not at all," Simone said innocently, taking a long, slow drink of his coffee. "Merely an observation."

"My Father is a married man, Simon."

"Need I remind you that he hasn't seen his wife for more than five minutes in literal years?"

"Maryse is married."

"Isabelle said they haven't been getting along well, also in literal years."

"They're just friends."

"I don't doubt that."

A knock at the door made them jump. Simon went over and opened it. Before he could say anything, Jace, Alec, and Isabelle stepped in and immediately made themselves at home.

"Please, come in," Simon said. "Mi casa es su casa."

"Valentine is at our place," Alec said. "So we left."

"I wanted to stay," said Jace hotly. "Didn't get to eat more than two bites of my breakfast."

Jonathan threw a pop tart at him. He caught it easily, finished it in two bites, and walked over to grab two more from the plate on the table. He handed one to Alec and tossed one to Isabelle, who caught it without looking up from making herself a cup of coffee.

"Why didn't you stay?" Simon asked, sitting back down. He went for a pop tart but the plate was empty. With a sigh, he took the plate back to the counter and started unwrapping more. "Why leave so fast?"

"Because it's beyond disturbing to watch Mom flirt with someone. Valentine is cute, but—"

"But we don't want him to be our new dad," Alec finished, a childish falsetto to his voice.

Simon gave Jonathan a look.

"But she's married!"

"Yeah," Jace chuckled. "Because they haven't had a 'good enough' reason to divorce." He shrugged. "Why leave when you'll be just as alone?"

"My father is married!"

They all gave him a look.

Isabelle spoke first. "Jonathan, your mother is an evil psycho who recently kidnapped your sister for the second time and has performed illegal dangerous experiments on countless children, including you and Clary. I don't know much about marriage, but I think that that's a good reason to end one."

Jonathan slumped in his chair, looking disbelieving and distraught. "But..."

"They're both adults," said Simon. He eyed his chair, which Jace had taken up residence in. "If they want to pursue a relationship, power to them."

"Were they really flirting?" He asked dejectedly.

"They're probably not flirting now," Jace said, deadpan. He noticed Jonathan perk up a little. "Because They're mouths are likely otherwise busy—"

"Okay!" Simon half-shouted, setting the plate loudly on the table. He pushed Jaces feet off a chair and sat.

"Having—"

"Thank you, Jace, for your awesome speculation. That'll be sufficient for today."

"Crazy—"

"Amounts of—"

"Demon—"

"Information about where to find Clary."

"Sex."

Jonathan jumped out of his chair and ran to the sink. He turned the faucet on full cold and shoved his face under the icy stream. "I DONT WANT TO HEAR IT I DONT WANT TO KNOW BY THE ANGEL JUST STOP!"

"Demon sex?" Alec asked.

"Like monkey sex," Jace informed him. "But instead of bananas And that weird, they feed on the chaos of the battle that they have waged with each other.''

"That's actually kind of romantic," said Isabelle.

"What's the battle?" Asked Alec, clearly not faking his innocence.

"Who can make the other cum first."

"BY THE ANGEL MY EARS STOP IT JACE BEFORE I KILL YOU WITH YOUR OWN HANDS!"

"Sounds sexy.'' Jace winked.

"Stop it," Simon snapped, but he was smirking. After all, it wasn't his parents. He turned the water off and dropped a dish towel on Jonathan's wet hair.

"Don't understand what the big deal is," Jace muttered. "We're all mature. We know how babies are made." He smirked. "Besides, we've all had sex before, not like it's a new concept."

Isabelle nodded, then looked at the other three boys. Her eyes went wide. They'd all looked away. "No," she said, shocked. "Tell me your joking!"

"I'm not," Jace said, oblivious. "We've discusses it before, Izzy."

"Anyway—"

Jace interrupted Alec. "Oh." He looked around, startled. "OH...!"

"Drop it," snapped Isabelle. "All of it." She gave him a hard look until he raised his hands, complacent.

Jonathan straightened, toweling his hair.

"But Simon And Clary are—"

"Jace."

"And Jonathan is—"

"Jace!"

"Alec, You've—"

"JACE!" They all shouted. "SHUT IT!"

He did.

Clary slumped in the big armchair of the hotel lobby in Portland. She was beyond exhausted. Over the last week, she'd made countless portals to different places around the world. At her mothers side, she'd been to Paris, Dubai, London, Delhi, Bangkok, Dublin, Stockholm, Johannesburg, Shanghai, New York, Berlin, Los Angeles, Huston, And, finally, Portland. Most places they'd stayed less than a couple of hours. They'd gotten on taxis, buses, and ferries, walked countless miles through busy streets, even biked across cities.

Portaling was tired work. Clary felt ready to pass out. The iratze and energy runes she'd given herself in passing weren't working anymore.

Jocelyn stood at the check-in desk of the hotel, talking briskly to the well dressed desk attendant. He was nodding as she spoke, typing occasionally with rapid-fire fingers. As was her now usual fashion, the woman was dressed in slacks and a blazer, her hair wrapped up in a tight bun. Not a single hair was out of place, amazing as they'd swept through a portal and into the rain less than five minutes before. As if feeling her daughters gaze on her, Jocelyn turned and gave Clary a quick smile before turning to say something to the man. Well, he was more of a boy—an older teen, Clary thought. No facial hair, still round-faced with big eyes. He looked a bit like Alec, actually.

The hotel was nice, nearing fancy, settled firmly on upscale. Probably five stars. The bellmen were all in snappy suits that resembled those used in marching bands, but dark green and gold.

Clary pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She'd been given it back two days before. A rune on the back made it untraceable, but still useable. She'd turned off her Read Receipts so she could read the messages without the senders knowing. Her father, brother, boyfriend, and friends had all been texting her. She hasn't responded, but it made her feel better that they were still looking for her. They were clearly hoping she'd steal the phone from her mother and call for help. She hadn't, though she'd wanted to. The only texts she'd responded to were from her mother.

Her stele was now permanently in her possession, as was a variety of seraph blades, and her wallet, which was stuffed full of money from multiple countries. Her passport was in her back pocket, though she hadn't needed it. Her drivers license was in her front pocket with switchblade she'd found on the subway.

Jocelyn was suddenly in front of her, saying something that Clary wasn't understanding, and she realized her mother must have been standing there for a while before she noticed.

"... and then he starts going on about room services and amenities and—"

"Mom," Clary said, cutting her off. "My energy rune is fading and I think I have four and a half minutes before I pass out."

Jocelyn blinked once. Twice. "Right. Of course. Do you need help standing?"

"I can walk," she insisted. Barely.

When she got to the room, she felt the last of the energy rune fading away. The second the door was open, she pushed past her mother, ran to the closest bed, and was out before she touched the mattress.

Jocelyn stared at her daughter for a long moment before shaking her head and dropping her bag on the floor and closing the door. She went over to Clary and began removing things from her pockets. Stele, seraph blades, switchblade, passport, wallet, drivers license—this surprised her a little, since she hadn't let Clary drive before. Her father must have taught her. Off came the backback, covered in enamel pins and fraying patches. Shoes were placed at the foot of the bed. Jacket was hung by the door. Mass of red curls went into a long braid so it didn't tangle in sleep. Then, she picked her up and laid her on her back, pulling the turned down blanket up to her chest. Jocelyn applied an iratze to the sleeping girls shoulder.

Then, after a moment of watching her chest rise and fall, Jocelyn left the room soundlessly.

"You've been on quite the adventure," the young man said, leaning against the wall outside the room. His arms were crossed, and there was a stiffness to his casual stance that instantly set Jocelyn on edge. He looked different, almost unrecognizable from the last time she'd seen him. After a moment, she saw how he truly looked, and realized he had glamoured himself so strongly that she'd actually needed to concentrate to pierce the illusion.

"How did you get here?" She demanded. "I didn't call you."

He laughed. "As if you have to. Do you honestly think that I wouldn't be able to find her wherever she is?" He shook his head. "After everything..."

Her eyebrows rose. "And you don't mention this until now...why?"

"I thought by now it would be obvious."

"Has the Clave noticed?"

"The Clave wouldn't notice something important if it slapped their ass and call them baby."

Jocelyn made a face. "Don't be crude."

"How is she?"

"Exhausted. All of the portaling has taken its toll on her. She's asleep."

"And? Is she coming around?"

Jocelyn shook her head. "No, I don't think so. I believe she may be planning to double cross me, but I can't read her. She acts as though she is enraptured, but I see the defiance in her eyes."

"And yet she has not called for help?"

"No. No messages or calls or anything from her phone."

"And yet you have doubts."

"I can't explain it."

"I think you're just paranoid, Jocelyn. She hasn't run, she hasn't called, and she portrays a genuine interest in your work. If you ask me—"

"I haven't—"

"It looks like you don't even want her to join you."

"That's ridiculous. Of course I do."

"And yet you believe with no cause that she has an ulterior motive." He shook his head and laughed. "You're so caught in your own paranoia that you can't even trust your own daughter, who you desperately wanted at your side. She is now. Why is that not enough for you? Aside from the obvious."

"I'm being cautious."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night. If you're so worried about it, why not give her a test? Have her do something that she would not do if she weren't on your side." A buzzing sound made him grimace. "That would be the others calling me back."

"I will call you."

"Of course."

Then, the young man did something that no one had ever done in the history of the world. He opened a portal, and stepped through into Alicante.

Jocelyn stood in the hall for a long time, staring at where the young man had disappeared, long after the portal had followed him. She wondered if Clary would me able to make such a portal, if she was powerful enough.

She quickly dismissed the thought. Of course she could. Clary was the most powerful of all her experiments. She was perfect.

So why was she doubtful?

Clary had followed her direction to a T, accepted her gifts of trust, and not yet given any indication that she would cross her. It was clear that she missed her friends, her brother, her father, yet she had not contacted them—not even a fire message!

So why did she hesitate to trust her?

Jocelyn sighed and went back into the room. Clary hadn't moved.

Perhaps the biggest question was why she trusted the boy, but not Clary. She didn't know.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Clary walked down the sidewalk, watching the pedestrians and cars and bikes crowding the streets. It was rush hour in Portland, Oregon, and everyone was out. Buses pulled in and out of traffic, lights turned but no one moved, people crossed between stopped cars that hadn't been able to get through. Horns blared the second lights went green, as pedestrian feet went from cross walk to sidewalk, as bikers sped down their skinny lanes, mostly unheeded.

Despite the busy streets and crowded crossings, her destination wasn't busy.

Powells City of Books was just as she'd always imagined it. It had the soft-wooded industrial look that she often missed about New York. Books covered every surface, and there were even a few small wooden crates on the ground holding more books. Signs declared genre sections, and between aisles were displays that, along with books, included enamel pins, patches, artsy socks, and other small knick-knacks. By the door was a pamphlet holder filled with nothing but maps of the store. Clary grabbed one as she passed, and headed to the side of the massive space to search the paper for the section she wanted.

It was a little strange to be out by herself-not just because it was an unfamiliar city, but because she hadn't actually been alone somewhere, free and alone, for as long as she could remember. Possibly ever, actually. As a kid, she'd always been with her family. Then, always with her mother, not really interested in leaving since she didn't have friends other than Simon. When Jonathan and their father had found her, she'd been with Jonathan and Simon and the others most of the time. Sure, she'd gone to a store by herself once or twice in various cities she'd lived in, but nothing like this.

"I could leave," she whispered to herself as she stared at the map. "I could just leave right now."

After a moment, she shook her head and refocused on the map. Once she had a good idea of where she wanted to go, she folded the map into her back pocket and headed for a set of stairs, which led to an elevator, and up she went.

The art section looked like a gallery. There were paintings on the walls, small sculptures scattered on display podiums. Benches lined the walls, all empty. Idly, she walked around, admiring the different pieces, occasionaly leaning against the wall to look longer. They were all a bit abstract, which wasn't her favorite-she preferred detailed pieces, scenes, pictures that held hidden items. Still, in her opinion, art was art, and everyone liked different things.

After a while she headed into the stacks to look through the books. She didn't find what she wanted, so she decided to leave the bookstore in search of something else. Making sure there was still no one in the room, she stepped out of sight of the cameras, and pulled out her stele. The portal rune was intricate but spoke to her a single word: go. She pictured the place in her mind, exactly as she'd seen on Google Maps.

She stepped into the back alley of the art store downtown. It was bigger than she'd thought, which excited her.

The inside was just as empty as Powells had been-most likely because it was the end of the day in the middle of the week. Most people weren't going to work on projects when they got home, after all. They were going to make dinner, spend time with their families, decompress by watching TV, the evening news. Maybe they would go to the gym before going home. Maybe they'd meet up with friends. Maybe they lived alone and were going to get take out and browse the internet for a few hours. Or they lived with a roommate and they'd go out to dinner together. Someone of them were starting their after-work day by going to pick up their significant others from their offices.

Clary sighed, dropping her hand from the display of different paint sets. They had some good ones-all of hers were back in her room in New York. There was an older set, she knew, in Alicante from when she'd stayed in the apartment a few nights. A few colored pencils scattered across the world for various reasons.

Now she needed new ones. Jocelyn had said they'd be in Portland for a while since there wasn't an Institute there, and art-ing would definitely be necessary if she was going to get through it. If her mother knew nothing else, she knew to leave her daughter alone while the art was in progress. As far as Clary was concerned, the less idle time between them, the better.

"I could leave," she whispered to herself again before she even realized she was speaking. "I could leave right now..it would take her at least a day to realize it." She took a pack of paints from the shelf, held it for a moment, then put it back. Turning a corner, she began examining packs of colored pencils. Anything she made with them would be better because they wouldn't have to dry like the paints, and they could be easily folded back up in a books. Paintings would just get ruined.

"I could make a portal," she whispered. "Back to New York...I could look for them." A pack of Prisma Colored Pencils caught her eye and she picked them up to read the info and check the colors. "But they could be anywhere. I could call them...maybe..." She sighed and put the pencils back. She grabbed a pack of FaberCastel. "Maybe I could portal straight to Alicante?" She put them back and stared at the shelf again. "No..." She grabbed a pencil sharpener and eraser, dropping them into the basket at her hip. "People can't portal directly into the city. I'd probably end up in Lake Lyn, just my luck." She rolled her eyes and grabbed the FaberCastel pack. It went into the basket with a clatter. A few aisles away were sketchbooks and paper and reems and canvases of all sizes. She picked up a sketchbook and felt the paper. "But even if I ended up in Lake Lyn...I could easily walk to Alicante." She put the book back and pulled out another. "It would take forever, but I could get there...that walk would be worth it." Another sketchbook. "Even if they weren't there, I could just go to the apartment-or the manor. She wouldn't be able to find me there because...she can't make portals, and she can't enter Idris. Or can she just not enter Alicante? I...don't remember..." She put back the one in her hands and grabbed the one before, placing it in the basket.

Clary walked aimlessly around the store, not really looking for anything, needing nothing else, whispering to herself.

Her phone rang after about five minutes of this, and she pulled it from her pocket. Jonathan.

She thumbed the 'reject' button, and thought about the last message she'd left on the voicemail. "Hi," she said aloud as she thought. "Hopefully you meant to reach my phone because I'm not saying my name. If you have an actual reason for called, leave a message."

* * *

Jonathan sighed as his call went to voicemail once again. It had been doing it for the last few weeks, but it hadn't stopped him from calling—even leaving messages, as he was about to now.

"Clary," he whispered. "Soon, you're going to hate me and everyone else for blowing up your phone so much. By the angel, I'm looking forward to that. If you hear this...we've been looking for you for three weeks and five days. We're still looking. We won't stop...I won't stop until you're by my side again. I'll stop at nothing, Clary, understand? And Jocelyn, if you're listening, if you've got Clary's phone and are listening to her messages, I want you to know...no matter what anyone else thinks or says, no matter the Claves decision or opinion...there is no law or threat or punishment, no angel in Heaven, that will save you from me. There is no pain, no sentence, no weapon, no demon in all their realms that will hurt you the way I will when I find you. Clary? Don't worry. I will save you."

He thumbed the End Call icon on the screen, and sighed heavily.

He stood in his apartment bedroom. The window glass was covered in thick black paper, and, combined with the heavy drapes, let in no light. A towel had been shoved into the space under the door. Tape had been placed along the other edges to keep the light out. Still, Jonathan could see everything in perfect clarity, doused in a film of milky violets, smokey greys, and more shades of blue than he could name. After a moment of observation, he closed his eyes and thought about what the room should have looked like. When he opened his eyes again, he was in complete darkness. He grinned to himself.

It had taken three sleepless weeks of trial and error, three days of practice, and one of many checks, but he had done it. He had mastered his mysterious ability to see in the dark—as well as being able to see far distances. He'd told Simon so he could help test. The day before, Simon had opened his own curtains, and placed on them a detailed tapestry of black, white, and grays, with a single spot of dark blue ink done in pen at random. From across the city, the farthest he could get with the window in sight, Jonathan had looked for the spot. It had taken him thirty seconds. Alec and Jace beside him had given each other far-sight tunes and had barely made out that there even was a tapestry in the window.

Satisfied, Jonathan focused on sight again and started taking the heavy drapes and paper off the windows, the towel and tape from the door.

Simon, as the only one capable of cooking, was in the kitchen making lunch when returned from the room. The Lightwoods had left with the promise to return later.

"Good?" Simon asked.

"Yup. Thanks for all your help."

"Least I could do." He leaned against the counter and sighed. I feel so useless. I can't help search or anything, can't go back and wait for her to come back, and everyone here looks at me like I'm a low-key freak." He rolled his eyes. "At least I'm here and not stuck at the Academy or something."

"Don't worry. As soon as all of this is done, things will calm down and we can keep training. The Counsel will set a date for official Ascension, and the next time the world starts going to shit, you'll be able to help."

"Does the world go to shit that much?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I think lately it does."

Simon sighed, but didn't say anything. He felt suddenly nervous. Without replying, he turned back to the stove. The pot he'd put on had yet to boil, despite having been sitting there for nearly ten minutes. He didn't have many opinions about Idris, and most of the ones he did have were positive-like that the place was absolutely beautiful, and it made him feel awesome to be somewhere where he would never have to worry about being attacked by demons. However, it could not be said that it was better for its lack of modern luxuries-okay, no, he thought. It wasn't really a luxury to have a stove that could actually get hot enough to boil water. It was a convenience, yes, but one that was common enough to be considered regular. Like having running water and indoor plumbing-which, thankfully, Alicante was not missing.

Though the city was, as everyone had told him, the most beautiful place he had ever seen, beautiful beyond anything he could have imagined, he was looking forward to leaving. He wanted to be back in the real world where the stoves got hot and cell phones worked and he didn't have to take a horse to get anywhere even a little outside the proper city. He missed the convenience of the subway-something that he never thought he'd say, even as a born and bred New Yorker.

"You look frustrated," Jonathan remarked, leaning against the icebox.

"The water won't boil. It's dumb, obviously, but with everything else, I guess I just have a short fuse today."

Jonathan stepped forward and shut off the stove. "C'mon. We're going somewhere."

Simon blinked hard and opened his mouth, but the other boy was already turning the corner and heading for the door. "Wait up!" He called, hurrying after.

They were down the stairs and in the street before either of them spoke again.

"Sorry," Jonathan said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It just came to my mind suddenly and I needed to go."

"Where are we going?"

"The manor house. I...I need to see something."

Simon didn't reply, just kept following him toward the stables on the edge of the city. Like always, curious eyes followed them. Half at Simon for being a mundane in Alicante, half at Jonathan for being the son of the worlds latest threat. Simon tried to ignore them, but then he just thought about what he knew was coming next: horses.

He hated horses. The others seemed to feel like they were somewhere between just a mode of transportation, and a large dog. Simon was inclined to disagree a lot. He hated the things. They were massive, rickety, and they never listened to his commands no matter how he did them. Jonathan claimed the horse he was riding, Clary's horse, Bluseph was the most compliant horse he'd ever seen and had no idea why it didn't seem to like him. He'd jokingly offered Simon his own horse, but the massive black Hendry was content only with Jonathan, that contentment was as far as it seemed to go.

"Sorry," Jonathan said as he handed over a saddle. "But it's kind of the only way right now."

Simon sighed loudly and took the saddle from him. "It's fine. I guess if I'm going to be a shadowhunter I have to get used to horses and stuff here."

"Don't worry," he grinned as he grabbed his own saddle. "Once all this is over, we'll probably go back to New York. I mean, that's where Clary wants to be. I don't mind. Your family is there too. And I'm sure Father will do whatever makes Clary happy."

"I'm sure he won't mind," Simon smirked.

"Nah, he likes New York."

"I wonder why."

Jonathan gave him a look over his shoulder. "Don't you dare start."

They prepared their horses for traveling-well, mostly Jonathan prepared while Simon gathered things from the stable and arranged them in the saddle bags; food for the horses and whatnot.

Finally, they were off, Jonathan leading the way as Simon bumped along behind him. Bluseph was probably a great horse, he knew, but that didn't change the fact that the only reason he had any illusion of command or control over the thing was because she was used to following Hendry. Simon made a mental note to ask about the horses names when there was less of a crisis.

The city faded behind them quickly as they rode, following a path of hooves across gently rolling hills under a bluer and blue sky. In the distances, far ahead, he could make out the tips of country houses dotting the skyline, poking up from between hills.

"This is Broceline Plain," Jonathan said as they rode. He grinned over his shoulder and pointed to something dark off to the side. "Far that way is Broceline Forest. It's beautiful, but there are often downworlders living there. Nest of vampires and packs of werewolves, a few fae but not many."

"Why don't they have cities?" Simon asked. "I mean, I know they aren't really welcome in Alicante, but why don't they make their own cities here where they'd be hidden from mundanes?"

"I'm not sure on the specifics." Jonathan shrugged. "But we've been told a lot of it is because they're very old-world. Not like Elizabethan, but like, tribal. Back before civilization really existed. Everything was very tribal, carnal, and things moved by instinct rather than desire. For various reasons, most of them don't know how to live among mundanes and still follow the law of the Accords. It's best for them to just stay here. As long as they don't cause trouble, they're fine."

"We aren't going to them are we?"

He laughed. "No, no! I told you. We're going to the country house. We're nearly there, so don't worry."

"Is anyone else there?"

"Nope. It's been mostly empty since Clary and Jocelyn disappeared the first time. Although it has been cleaned recently since we were expecting to all be going back." He shook his head. "That probably won't happen now though."

"But there aren't any other Morgansterns?"

"Distantly, yeah, but unless something happens to us, they don't have claim on the house. The family got really small when our great-great grandmother failed to have more than two children. It happens, but it means less lines."

The house was huge. Not as massive as some of the others Simon had glimpsed along the way, but bigger than anything he could picture the family living in it would have or need. Seriously, in what world did two adults and two children need to live in a freaking mansion? Manor, Jonathan had corrected. Commonly referred to as a country estate. Many families had one in Idris, most of them bigger than this one. This didn't change anything in Simons mind-except that maybe shadowhunters might be a little more pretentious than he'd thought before.

The inside was just as immaculate at the outside suggested, but Simon didn't fault them on it because most of the stuff, while super expensive and tasteful, were clearly family heirlooms and items passed down from heir to heir of the home. And it was just that: a home. There were paintings and photographs throughout the house, dotting the halls in gilded frames, next to potted silk plants, the pots of which looked older than anything in Simons own home. Runners ran the lengths of the halls, all matching, all priceless. But there were also very clear signs that it wasn't just an elaborate show house or massive heirloom itself. As he and Jonathan walked the halls slowly, silent, Simon spotted over a dozen scattered toy soldiers-tucked into potted plants, sitting on knobs of doors, balanced on the edges of picture frames. Near some of them were the occasional colored pencil, marker, eraser wedge. A little girls' hair ribbon here, a Hot Wheel there. In the ballroom-um, what?! ballroom?! jeez- a set of sparring swords sat abandoned in the middle of the room, a sketchbook a few feet away.

"We got called to supper," Jonathan said as they passed the swords and caught Simon looking. "A few days before they disappeared. "It was raining that day, or we'd have been playing in the garden."

"Did you often play in the...ballroom?"

"It's a lot bigger than the training room, and prettier." He smiled. "Plus, it was sometimes the only way to get Clary to train at all. She was always in her own world, drawing and stuff, you know?"

"So a pretty room is all it takes..."

Jonathan laughed. "As a kid, yes. She's almost an adult now."

"Hey, Jonathan?" Simon asked as they entered an open area that was clearly a living room. A grand piano on one side, desk and easle on the other, room centered with a seating area and coffee table. More heirlooms and finery, but this room was a little more worn. "What are we doing here?"

"Oh, look!" He grinned, running across the room to where

dark lines were carved into a wall in a column, black runes beside each of them. When they got closer, Simon gave the wall a curious look. He didn't recognize any of the runes. The lines were stacked, all about the same length, looking like a set of stairs seen from afar. Just...lines.

"Um, Jonathan, bro, what am I looking at?"

He looked up in surprise from brushing his fingertips over the carvings. "For real? Simon, it's a height chart." He pointed at the runes one by one. "Great Great Great grandparents, Great Great Grandmother, Great Grandmother, Great Uncle Val, Grandmother Morganstern, our father, me, and Clary." He looked up. "It's our family height chart, marked with our name runes. Mother used to keep it covered when we weren't using it, but Father...we wanted to see it."

Simon got closer and looked at the markings of Clary's height. He wanted to laugh. The last of her lines were carved one over the other from where she'd stopped growing. Just below it was a series of similar marks. He pointed. "Who's that?"

Jonathan smirked. "Grandmother Morganstern. She was shorter than Clary by just that much, and was apparently always a little bitter about it. Father always said she still would be because she's still the shortest woman in the family."

"Think Clary's grown at all?"

He laughed. "She hasn't. I'd know. You would too. She'd be bragging about it every second of the day. 'Yeah, well I grew a quarter of a centimeter two years ago.'"

* * *

Clary stared out the window of the hotel for a long time, mind wandering and scattered and looping over the same thoughts over and over again. She wondered at why she was still there, why she wasn't leaving or finding some way to communicate with her brother and Simon without her mother knowing-it wasn't like it'd be hard, not even a little bit. For the last few days, Jocelyn had been out, letting Clary do her own thing, rejecting her offers to come along. On one hand it made her suspicious, but then again, the woman had always been like that, though most of it had been under the guise of art-stuff, even when they'd lived in Alicante.

On the other hand, she knew her mother, and knew that she wouldn't be leaving if it weren't necessary-or if she didn't trust Clary. She obviously trusted her to go around the city alone, make portals to the right places, have her stele even without Jocelyn there, and to have weapons on her at al times, AND have her cell phone.

Clary pulled her legs up and rested her chin on her knees. She didn't know what to do, and nothing had even happened yet! What was she going to do if someone from the Clave found them? Would she turn on her mother or keep pretending? Or if Jocelyn wanted her to perform a spell? Or an experiment? Or a crime? And really, how long was she supposed to pretend? She hadn't thought about it before doing it. Her plan had been relatively short and vague: gain trust and get out. Already, Clary knew that she'd made a big mistake somewhere along the way-not just because she was now confused and uncertain, or even just because she was still there.

She was comfortable. She didn't like what Jocelyn was doing or the way she talked about her experiments and the Clave. But...there was no longer that bolt of fear striking her when Jocelyn walked into the room. She didn't see the dark room or the torture or anything behind her lids anymore. She was...used to it. Used to being around Jocelyn. In a way, it was a lot like when they'd lived together before, when Clary didn't know anything but a mundane life and a mundane mother. That, the ease with which she was once again walking, unsettled her more than she could rationalize.

She missed Simon and Jonathan and her father, and the Lightwoods. She missed New York. She missed home. She missed...

Suddenly, a whooshing sound erupted from behind her, and she spun around at top speed, whipping a seraph blade from the window sill.

A portal was opening across the room.

Clary raised her blade defensively, prepared for anything.

Well, almost anything.

She'd been expecting someone to step out of the portal and most likely attack her or be confused, but probably not to be expecting her to be there alone and ready.

The figure exploded from the portal and rammed into her, arms wrapping her waist and throwing her to the floor. Her back struck, and the hair flew from her lungs with a sharp gasp. A man-or a boy? a teenager? She couldn't tell-had his knee pushed into her stomach, one hand on her right arm, pinning it to the floor. His other arm was reaching back toward his weapons belt.

But Clary was faster.

Her left hand shot out, grabbing his wrist and pulling him sharply toward her. Startled, he lost his balance. She threw him off her and jumped to her feet, swiping a wickedly sharp blade from the guys belt as she did.

In a flash, she was on him, knee in his back. One hand in his hair, holding his head up, one hand holding the blade of the long knife to his through. Her lips by his ear. "Who the hell are you?" Her voice was a sharp whisper. "And how did you get here?"


	6. Chapter 6

The young man knew the second he saw the other side of the portal that he'd made a mistake-or, rather, that someone had. He wasn't entirely sure he was at fault. Really if it was anyone's fault, his bets were on Jocelyn. If the bitch had been more forthcoming, he wouldn't have portaled right in front of Clary.

The instant he saw her, he shifted his glamour, and took an offensive position, lunging out of the swirling darkness at the girl on the other side. He had her pinned almost instantly, and was reaching back for his stele when she suddenly swiped and moved out from under him. Before he could blink, the red-haired girl had her knee to his back, a fist of his hair, which also appeared red, and a wicked knife to his throat. He could see the handle in the corner of his eye. Damn, she was good. It was one of his.

"Who the hell are you," she demanded, her voice a growling hiss. "And how did you get here?"

He almost laughed, but realized just before he did that it would probably get his throat slit. "What a stupid question," he said instead. "You saw the portal."

"How did you find me?"

"Honestly, I had no idea that you were here," he told her. "Really, it was an at-whim portal. Who knows where one might end up if they aren't careful, you know?"

"At-whim isn't a phrase," she said dryly. "So you're either lying out of your ass, or you're an idiot."

"Probably both," he replied, equally dry.

She pressed the blade to his neck, and he felt blood pool and slowly trail down. "Who are you and how did you get here? Did the Clave send you? My mother?"

Again, he almost laughed. He loved when people stacked questions. "No one sent me. But I am here for Jocelyn." He backpedaled slightly when the blade dug a little deeper. "To see her, I mean! We've been communicating. I was expecting her to be here, not you."

"Prove it."

"Call her and ask."

"No. You prove it now."

He sighed loudly. "How else would I have known how to find you?"

After a moment of what he could only assume was thoughtful hesitation, Clary flipped the knife away from his throat and stood up fast-one second she was on him, the next, she wasn't. He got up just as fast, and was swirling an iratze on his forearm before his feet were even on the floor again. He pointed the stele toward her. "Do you need one?"

He saw the small cut on her cheek, and before she could say anything, he'd taken her arm and given her an iratze above her wrist. "All done."

Her fingertips brushed her cheek, but she didn't seem to notice. She was staring at him. "Are you wearing a glamour?"

"Yes. Why?" He shifted away from her slightly, as though he needed to hide his true face. It wasn't necessary, of course. Even Clary wouldn't be able to see through this spell.

"Why can't I see through it?"

"No one can. That's the point."

She fingered a curl on her shoulder. "You don't really have red hair. And you don't look like this. Who are you?"

Just then, the hotel door flew open and Jocelyn stepped in. She looked at the two young people by the window for a long moment. "What's going on here?"

The young man moved toward her, extending a hand. "I brought you this. I thought you would be here."

She angled her face so Clary couldn't see her glare at him. "I told you I would call you."

He shrugged. "Are you going to take it or not?"

She took the parcel he offered and slipped it into her coat pocket.

"She seems nice," he smirked, jerking his head in Clary's direction. "You must introduce us." Without another word, he created a portal with a flourish of his stele, and stepped through to Alicante.

Clary exploded the second the portal was closed. "Who the hell was that?" She demanded. "He portaled right in front of me and attacked me. Why haven't you told me you have some other teenage shadowhunter on our team? What, is he some sort of spy for you? I want answers, Mother, and I want them now."

"Excuse me, Clarissa, you don't get to speak to me that way."

"Oh," she said, oozing sarcasm. "I'm SO sorry! Should I have begged on my knees or something? Or just act like nothing happened? No? Oh, wait, maybe you'd prefer I actually don't remember that anything did happen. That's it right?" Her voice had changed from sarcastic to super fake sugar. "Maybe I should just keep a memory spell on me at all times, right? Just do the dirty work for you so I don't know what's going on?"

"Clary!"

"Don't play dumb, Mother. And don't play me."

"Listen-"

"No, you listen." Clary was bristling again. She stalked forward and stood two feet from her mother. She crossed her arms.

"Clary-"

"No, I deserve to know-I have a right to know. Why are you holding back? Why aren't you telling me everything? I haven't given you any reason to doubt me or my motives, have I?" She reached into her pockets and pulled out her phone, wallet, and stele. "Mother, I have everything I need to leave right here. I could make a portal to almost anywhere. I could call my brother, or someone from the Clave. There's enough US dollars in here right now that I could get on a plane to almost anywhere in the world." She shoved the things back into her hoodie pocket. "Hell, I could have jumped through after him!" She waved her hand at the spot where the portal had been. "But I didn't. I stayed. So why don't you trust me? Why aren't you including me? And why the hell are you leaving me here all damned day doing nothing while you're off doing whatever you do? Tell me! If you don't, I'll leave."

"Clary-"

"I don't have to take this, Mother. I can go whenever I want. You know I can."

Jocelyn sighed. "No, you're right. You're absolutely right, Clarissa. I…I thought that perhaps you would have to prove yourself but…Well, the fact that I've given you trust and you've kept it, and you're still here…you should know everything."

4 million people live in Los Angeles, California. It's estimated that of those, about 2 thousand people lose their phones every day. Of those, about 140 are returned or found. Some phones fall between the cracks, set down and forgotten, some are pickpocketed, and sometimes they're pulled from a womans' purse by an invisible hand.

Clary stepped into an empty ally with the stolen phone and breathed a sigh of relief at not getting caught. Of the dozens of people she'd seen on the bus in the last half our, that woman had been the only one without a passcode lock. Sure, Clary could have easy gotten a code, but she wasn't planning on having it long enough to warrant memorizing something. In fact, she'd chosen the bus and woman specifically because the bus went to the garage, which happened to be where the buses dropped their lost and found, which was where the woman would find it.

Well, if she checked the buses lost and found.

Clary breathed a silent sigh of relief when the call went to voicemail. Though she desperately missed him, she wasn't sure she could handle actually talking to her brother yet.

"YOU HAVE REACHED THE VOICEMAIL BOX OF...Jonathan Cardinal...PLEASE LEAVE A MESSAGE AFTER THE TONE."

"Jonathan," she said, forcing calm into her voice as her hands shook around the phone. "It's Clary. I'm sorry, but I can't risk an outgoing call log right now. This phone...belongs to someone else. I won't be using it again, so don't call back here. Leave a text or message on my phone and I'll find a way to get back to you when I can, okay? She doesn't check my messages. I...I have to go. I love you, Jonathan."

She hung up and held the phone to her chest for a long moment before dropping her arm and putting the device in her pocket.

The young man knelt on the roof of the two story building, looking down at the street. His jeans and grey shirt would blend with the structure if anyone happened to look up, and his appearance was that of a pale boy with light brown hair-again, not his true appearance, which he didn't dare wear here or anywhere near Jocelyn Fairchild. People talked, especially if they were Shadowhunters.

Three things happened at once.

One: Across the way, a young woman with brown hair and a serene expression stepped out of a bank, phone pressed to her ear. She looked completely human, but the young man knew better. The woman was familiar to him in many ways. She was his target.

Two: Two blocks away, but more than visible with his acute sight, a bus pulled over and let two people out, one with bright red hair. As he watched, she reached out, dipped her hand into the other womans bag, and grabbed her phone. Incredulous, he continued watching as she followed her for a moment, looking around casually like she was a tourist or just looking for an address, then pulled away from the crowd of the sidewalk into the alley right before where the young man knelt.

Third: A strange heat began spreading through his chest-something he'd never felt before, but wasn't concerned about for the moment.

He glanced over at the brunette crossing the street, getting further from his with every moment. He looked down at Clary and knelt a little lower to hear her over the thrum of Los Angeles.

"...get back to you when I can, okay? She doesn't check my messages...I love you, Jonathan."

A slow smile began stretching across his face as the young man watched Clary tuck the stolen phone into her pocket and walk away. Target forgotten for the moment, he gracefully, climbed down the drainpipe of the building and began to follow the redhead.

He did love when the unexpected happened.

Clary wasn't as faithful to Jocelyn as she pretended-and she was very good at pretending.

"I don't understand," Jonathan said, his whole body tense and shaking as he stood in the middle of the living room, staring at his father. "Stasis? What does that even mean?!"

Simon sighed from his perch at the edge of the couch cushion. "I think it means there's too much crap everywhere and they don't know what to do about it."

Valentine nodded. He was leaning agains the wall, looking both tense and calm at the same time. "Indeed. With all of the supposed sightings, the Clave isn't sure what to make of the situation anymore."

"I don't really understand that," Simon said. "Supposedly, over the last two weeks or so, people have been seeing Jocelyn all over the world, just walking around like there isn't a huge price on her head."

He nodded carefully. "And Clary has been occasionally seen with her, but those who have seen them are either not completely convinced it was them, or couldn't be sure how under Jocelyn's control Clary was."

"So because no one knows what's going on, the Counsel just kind of...paused everything. Like, no commands, no nothing?"

"Exactly. But they're getting fire messages almost every day saying they've been spotted in another part of the world. Until there's something more substantial to go on...there isn't really anything they can do."

"And us?" Jonathan asked. "What can we do? That's too many lead to follow, Father. And even if the Lightwoods or someone offered to help us, there aren't enough of us to search thoroughly. Its like a needle in a pile of needles!"

"Until we can predict their movements or something equally miraculous," Simon said, slow and careful. "I don't think we can really make a plan. I think...at the moment...all we can do is wait like everyone else, and hope either someone catches them, or Clary gets away."

Jonathan had left the apartment shortly after that. No particular destination in mind, he found himself aimlessly wandering the winding streets of Alicante.


End file.
